Books: He Knew He Was Right

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There had been interviews between Mr Outhouse and Trevelyan, and
between Mrs Outhouse and her niece; and then there was an interview
between Mr Outhouse and Emily, in which it was decided that Mrs
Trevelyan would not go to the parsonage of St. Diddulph's. She had been
very outspoken to her uncle, declaring that she by no means intended to
carry herself as a disgraced woman. Mr Outhouse had quoted St. Paul to
her; 'Wives, obey your husbands.' Then she had got up and had spoken
very angrily. 'I look for support from you,' she said, 'as the man who
is the nearest to me, till my father shall come.' 'But I cannot support
you in what is wrong,' said the clergyman. Then Mrs Trevelyan had left
the room, and would not see her uncle again.

She carried things altogether with a high hand at this time. When old
Mr Bideawhile called upon her, her husband's ancient family lawyer, she
told that gentleman that if it was her husband's will that they should
live apart, it must be so. She could not force him to remain with her.
She could not compel him to keep up the house in Curzon Street. She had
certain rights, she believed. She spoke then, she said, of pecuniary
rights not of those other rights which her husband was determined, and
was no doubt able, to ignore. She did not really know what those
pecuniary rights might be, nor was she careful to learn their exact
extent. She would thank Mr Bideawhile to see that things were properly
arranged. But of this her husband, and Mr Bideawhile, might be quite
sure; she would take nothing as a favour. She would not go to her
uncle's house. She declined to tell Mr Bideawhile why she had so
decided; but she had decided. She was ready to listen to any suggestion
that her husband might make as to her residence, but she must claim to
have some choice in the matter. As to her sister, of course she
intended to give Nora a home as long as such a home might be wanted. It
would be very sad for Nora, but in existing circumstances such an
arrangement would be expedient. She would not go into details as to
expense. Her husband was driving her away from him, and it was for him
to say what proportion of his income he would choose to give for her
maintenance for hers and for that of the child. She was not desirous of
anything beyond the means of decent living, but of course she must for
the present find a home for her sister as well as for herself. When
speaking of her baby she had striven hard so to speak that Mr
Bideawhile should find no trace of doubt in the tones of her voice. And
yet she had been full of doubt full of fear. As Mr Bideawhile had
uttered nothing antagonistic to her wishes in this matter had seemed to
agree that wherever the mother went thither the child would go also Mrs
Trevelyan had considered herself to be successful in this interview.

The idea of a residence at Nuncombe Putney had occurred first to
Trevelyan himself, and he had spoken of it to Hugh Stanbury. There had
been some difficulty in this, because he had snubbed Stanbury
grievously when his friend had attempted to do some work of gentle
interference between him and his wife; and when he began the
conversation, he took the trouble of stating, in the first instance,
that the separation was a thing fixed so that nothing might be urged on
that subject. 'It is to be. You will understand that,' he said; 'and if
you think that your mother would agree to the arrangement, it would be
satisfactory to me, and might, I think, be made pleasant to her. Of
course, your mother would be made to understand that the only fault
with which my wife is charged is that of indomitable disobedience to my
wishes.'

'Incompatibility of temper,' suggested Stanbury.

'You may call it that if you please; though I must say for myself that
I do not think that I have displayed any temper to which a woman has a
right to object. Then he had gone on to explain what he was prepared to
do about money. He would pay, through Stanbury's hands, so much for
maintenance and so much for house rent, on the understanding that the
money was not to go into his wife's hands. 'I shall prefer,' he said,
'to make myself, on her behalf, what disbursements may be necessary. I
will take care that she receives a proper sum quarterly through Mr
Bideawhile for her own clothes and for those of our poor boy.' Then
Stanbury had told him of the Clock House, and there had been an
agreement made between them; an agreement which was then, of course,
subject to the approval of the ladies at Nuncombe Putney. When the
suggestion was made to Mrs Trevelyan with a proposition that the Clock
House should be taken for one year, and that for that year, at least,
her boy should remain with her she assented to it. She did so with all
the calmness that she was able to assume; but, in truth, almost
everything seemed to have been gained, when she found that she was not
to be separated from her baby. 'I have no objection to living in
Devonshire if Mr Trevelyan wishes it,' she said, in her most stately
manner; 'and certainly no objection to living with Mr Stanbury's
mother.' Then Mr Bideawhile explained to her that Nuncombe Putney was
not a large town was, in fact, a very small and a very remote village.
'That will make no difference whatsoever as far as I am concerned,' she
answered; 'and as for my sister, she must put up with it till my father
and my mother are here. I believe the scenery at Nuncombe Putney is
very pretty.' 'Lovely!' said Mr Bideawhile, who had a general idea that
Devonshire is supposed to be a picturesque county. 'With such a life
before me as I must lead,' continued Mrs Trevelyan, 'an ugly
neighbourhood, one that would itself have had no interest for a
stranger, would certainly have been an additional sorrow.' So it had
been settled, and by the end of July, Mrs Trevelyan, with her sister
and baby, was established at the Clock House, under the protection of
Mrs Stanbury. Mrs Trevelyan had brought down her own maid and her own
nurse, and had found that the arrangements made by her husband had, in
truth, been liberal. The house in Curzon Street had been given up, the
furniture had been sent to a warehouse, and Mr Trevelyan had gone into
lodgings. 'There never were two young people so insane since the world
began,' said Lady Milborough to her old friend, Mrs Fairfax, when the
thing was done.

'They will be together again before next April,' Mrs Fairfax had
replied. But Mrs Fairfax was a jolly dame who made the best of
everything. Lady Milborough raised her hands in despair and shook her
head. 'I don't suppose, though, that Mr Glascock will go to Devonshire
after his lady love,' said Mrs Fairfax. Lady Milborough again raised
her hands, and again shook her head.

Mrs Stanbury had given an easy assent when her son proposed to her this
new mode of life, but Priscilla had had her doubts. Like all women, she
thought that when a man was to be separated from his wife, the woman
must he in the wrong. And though it must be doubtless comfortable to go
from the cottage to the Clock House, it would, she said, with much
prudence, be very uncomfortable to go back from the Clock House to the
cottage. Hugh replied very cavalierly generously, that is, rashly, and
somewhat impetuously that he would guarantee them against any such
degradation.

'We don't want to be a burden upon you, my dear,' said the mother.

'You would be a great burden on me,' he replied, 'if you were living
uncomfortably while I am able to make you comfortable.'

Mrs Stanbury was soon won over by Mrs Trevelyan, by Nora, and
especially by the baby; and even Priscilla, after a week or two, began
to feel that she liked their company. Priscilla was a young woman who
read a great deal, and even had some gifts of understanding what she
read. She borrowed books from the clergyman, and paid a penny a week to
the landlady of the Stag and Antlers for the hire during half a day of
the weekly newspaper. But now there came a box of books from Exeter,
and a daily paper from London, and to improve all this both the new
corners were able to talk with her about the things she read. She soon
declared to her mother that she liked Miss Rowley much the best of the
two. Mrs Trevelyan was too fond of having her own way. She began to
understand, she would say to her mother, that a man might find it
difficult to live with Mrs Trevelyan. 'She hardly ever yields about
anything,' said Priscilla. As Miss Priscilla Stanbury was also very
fond of having her own way, it was not surprising that she should
object to that quality in this lady, who had come to live under the
same roof with her.

The country about Nuncombe Putney is perhaps as pretty as any in
England. It is beyond the river Teign, between that and Dartmoor, and
is so lovely in all its variations of rivers, rivulets, broken ground,
hills and dales, old broken, battered, time-worn timber, green knolls,
rich pastures, and heathy common, that the wonder is that English
lovers of scenery know so little of it. At the Stag and Antlers old Mrs
Crocket, than whom no old woman in the public line was ever more
generous, more peppery, or more kind, kept two clean bed-rooms, and
could cook a leg of Dartmoor mutton and make an apple pie against any
woman in Devonshire. 'Drat your fish!' she would say, when some self-
indulgent and exacting traveller would wish for more than these
accustomed viands. 'Cock you up with dainties! If you can't eat your
victuals without fish, you must go to Exeter. And then you'll get it
stinking may-hap.' Now Priscilla Stanbury and Mrs Crocket were great
friends, and there had been times of deep want, in which Mrs Crocket's
friendship had been very serviceable to the ladies at the cottage. The
three young women had been to the inn one morning to ask after a
conveyance from Nuncombe Putney to Princetown, and had found that a
four-wheeled open carriage with an old horse and a very young driver
could be hired there. 'We have never dreamed of such a thing,'
Priscilla Stanbury had said, 'and the only time I was at Prince-town I
walked there and back.' So they had called at the Stag and Antlers, and
Mrs Crocket had told them her mind upon several matters.

'What a dear old woman!' said Nora, as they came away, having made
their bargain for the open carriage.

'I think she takes quite enough upon herself, you know,' said Mrs
Trevelyan.

'She is a dear old woman,' said Priscilla, not attending at all to the
last words that had been spoken. 'She is one of the best friends I have
in the world. If I were to say the best out of my own family, perhaps I
should not be wrong.'

'But she uses such very odd language for a woman,' said Mrs Trevelyan.
Now Mrs Crocket had certainly 'dratted' and 'darned' the boy, who
wouldn't come as fast as she had wished, and had laughed at Mrs
Trevelyan very contemptuously, when that lady had suggested that the
urchin, who was at last brought forth, might not be a safe charioteer
down some of the hills.

'I suppose I'm used to it,' said Priscilla. 'At any rate I know I like
it. And I like her.'

'I dare say she's a good sort of woman,' said Mrs Trevelyan, 'only--'

'I am not saying anything about her being a good woman now,' said
Priscilla, interrupting the other with some vehemence, 'but only that
she is my friend.'

'I liked her of all things,' said Nora. 'Has she lived here always?'

'Yes; all her life. The house belonged to her father and to her
grandfather before her, and I think she says she has never slept out of
it a dozen times in her life. Her husband is dead, and her daughters
are married away, and she has the great grief and trouble of a
ne'er-do-well son. He's away now, and she's all alone.' Then after a
pause, she continued; 'I dare say it seems odd to you, Mrs Trevelyan,
that we should speak of the innkeeper as a dear friend; but you must
remember that we have been poor among the poorest and are so indeed
now. We only came into our present house to receive you. That is where
we used to live,' and she pointed to the tiny cottage, which now that
it was dismantled an desolate, looked to be doubly poor. 'There have
been times when we should have gone to bed very hungry if it had not
been for Mrs Crocket.'

Later in the day Mrs Trevelyan, finding Priscilla alone, had apologized
for what she had said about the old woman. 'I was very thoughtless and
forgetful, but I hope you will not be angry with me. I will be ever so
fond of her if you will forgive me.'

'Very well,' said Priscilla, smiling; 'on those conditions I will
forgive you.' And from that time there sprang up something like a
feeling of friendship between Priscilla and Mrs Trevelyan. Nevertheless
Priscilla was still of opinion that the Clock House arrangement was
dangerous, and should never have been made; and Mrs Stanbury, always
timid of her own nature, began to fear that it must be so, as soon as
she was removed from the influence of her son. She did not see much
even of the few neighbours who lived around her, but she fancied that
people looked at her in church as though she had done that which she
ought not to have done, in taking herself to a big and comfortable
house for the sake of lending her protection to a lady who was
separated from her husband. It was not that she believed that Mrs
Trevelyan had been wrong; but that, knowing herself to be weak, she
fancied that she and her daughter would be enveloped in the danger and
suspicion which could not but attach themselves to the lady's
condition, instead of raising the lady out of the cloud as would have
been the case had she herself been strong. Mrs Trevelyan, who was
sharpsighted and clear-witted, soon saw that it was so, and spoke to
Priscilla on the subject before she had been a fortnight in the house.
'I am afraid your mother does not like our being here,' she said.

'How am I to answer that?' Priscilla replied.

'Just tell the truth.'

'The truth is so uncivil. At first I did not like it. I disliked it
very much.'

'Why did you give way?'

'I didn't give way. Hugh talked my mother over. Mamma does what I tell
her, except when Hugh tells her something else. I was afraid, because,
down here, knowing nothing of the world, I didn't wish that we, little
people, should be mixed up in the quarrels and disagreements of those
who are so much bigger.'

'I don't know who it is that is big in this matter.'

'You are big at any rate by comparison. But now it must go on. The
house has been taken, and my fears are over as regards you. What you
observe in mamma is only the effect, not yet quite worn out, of what I
said before you came. You may be quite sure of this that we neither of
us believe a word against you. Your position is a very unfortunate one;
but if it can be remedied by your staying here with us, pray stay with
us.'

'It cannot be remedied,' said Emily; 'but we could not be anywhere more
comfortable than we are here.'

CHAPTER XV - WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT IT IN THE CLOSE

When Miss Stanbury, in the Close at Exeter, was first told of the
arrangement that had been made at Nuncombe Putney, she said some very
hard words as to the thing that had been done. She was quite sure that
Mrs Trevelyan was no better than she should be. Ladies who were
separated from their husbands never were any better than they should
be. And what was to be thought of any woman, who, when separated from
her husband, would put herself under the protection of such a Paladin
as Hugh Stanbury. She heard the tidings of course from Dorothy, and
spoke her mind even to Dorothy plainly enough; but it was to Martha
that she expressed herself with her fullest vehemence.

'We always knew,' she said, 'that my brother had married an
addle-pated, silly woman, one of the most unsuited to be the mistress
of a clergyman's house that ever a man set eyes on; but I didn't think
she'd allow herself to be led into such a stupid thing as this.'

'I don't suppose the lady has done anything amiss any more than
combing her husband's hair, and the like of that,' said Martha.

'Don't tell me! Why, by their own story, she has got a lover.'

'But he ain't to come after her down here, I suppose. And as for
lovers, ma'am, I'm told that the most of 'em have 'em up in London. But
it don't mean much, only just idle talking and gallivanting.'

'When women can't keep themselves from idle talking with strange
gentlemen, they are very far gone on the road to the devil. That's my
notion. And that was everybody's notion a few years ago. But now, what
with divorce bills, and woman's rights, and penny papers, and false
hair, and married women being just like giggling girls, and giggling
girls knowing just as much as married women, when a woman has been
married a year or two she begins to think whether she mayn't have more
fun for her money by living apart from her husband.'

'Miss Dorothy says--'

'Oh, bother what Miss Dorothy says! Miss Dorothy only knows what it has
suited that scamp, her brother, to tell her. I understand this woman
has come away because of a lover; and if that's so, my sister-in-law is
very wrong to receive her. The temptation of the Clock House has been
too much for her. It's not my doing; that's all.'

That evening Miss Stanbury and Dorothy went out to tea at the house of
Mrs MacHugh, and there the matter was very much discussed. The family
of the Trevelyans was known by name in these parts, and the fact of Mrs
Trevelyan having been sent to live in a Devonshire village, with
Devonshire ladies who had a relation in Exeter so well esteemed as Miss
Stanbury of the Close, were circumstances of themselves sufficient to
ensure a considerable amount of prestige at the city tea-table for the
tidings of this unfortunate family quarrel. Some reticence was of
course necessary because of the presence of Miss Stanbury and of
Dorothy. To Miss Stanbury herself Mrs MacHugh and Mrs Crumbie, of
Cronstadt House, did not scruple to express themselves very plainly,
and to whisper a question as to what was to be done should the lover
make his appearance at Nuncombe Putney; but they who spoke of the
matter before Dorothy, were at first more charitable, or, at least,
more forbearing. Mr Gibson, who was one of the minor canons, and the
two Miss Frenches from Heavitree, who had the reputation of hunting
unmarried clergymen in couples, seemed to have heard all about it. When
Mrs MacHugh and Miss Stanbury, with Mr and Mrs Crumbie, had seated
themselves at their whist-table, the younger people were able to
express their opinions without danger of interruption or of rebuke. It
was known to all Exeter by this time, that Dorothy Stanbury's mother
had gone to the Clock House, and that she had done so in order that Mrs
Trevelyan might have a home. But it was not yet known whether anybody
had called upon them. There was Mrs Merton, the wife of the present
parson of Nuncombe, who had known the Stanburys for the last twenty
years; and there was Mrs Ellison of Lessboro', who lived only four
miles from Nuncombe, and who kept a pony-carriage. It would be a great
thing to know how these ladies had behaved in so difficult and
embarrassing a position. Mrs Trevelyan and her sister had now been at
Nuncombe Putney for more than a fortnight, and something in that matter
of calling must have been done or have been left undone. In answer to
an ingeniously-framed question asked by Camilla French, Dorothy at once
set the matter at rest. 'Mrs Merton,' said Camilla French, 'must find
it a great thing to have two new ladies come to the village, especially
now that she has lost you, Miss Stanbury?'

'Mamma tells me,' said Dorothy, 'that Mrs Trevelyan and Miss Rowley do
not mean to know anybody. They have given it out quite plainly, so that
there should be no mistake.'

'Dear, dear!' said Camilla French.

'I dare say it's for the best,' said Arabella French, who was the
elder, and who looked very meek and soft. Miss French almost always
looked meek and soft.

'I'm afraid it will make it very dull for your mother not seeing her
old friends,' said Mr Gibson.

'Mamma won't feel that at all,' said Dorothy.

'Mrs Stanbury, I suppose, will see her own friends at her own house
just the same,' said Camilla.

'There would be great difficulty in that, when there is a lady who is
to remain unknown,' said Arabella. 'Don't you think so, Mr Gibson?' Mr
Gibson replied that perhaps there might be a difficulty, but he wasn't
sure. The difficulty, he thought, might be got over if the ladies did
not always occupy the same room.

'You have never seen Mrs Trevelyan, have you, Miss Stanbury?' asked
Camilla.

'Never.'

'She is not an old family friend, then or anything of that sort?'

'Oh, dear, no.'

'Because,' said Arabella, 'it is so odd how different people get
together sometimes.' Then Dorothy explained that Mr Trevelyan and her
brother Hugh had long been friends.

'Oh! of Mr Trevelyan,' said Camilla. 'Then it is he that has sent his
wife to Nuncombe, not she that has come there?'

'I suppose there has been some agreement,' said Dorothy.

'Just so; just so,' said Arabella, the meek. 'I should like to see her.
They say that she is very beautiful; don't they?'

'My brother says that she is handsome.'

'Exceedingly lovely, I'm told,' said Camilla. 'I should like to see her
shouldn't you, Mr Gibson?'

'I always like to see a pretty woman,' said Mr Gibson, with a polite
bow, which the sisters shared between them.

'I suppose she'll go to church,' said Camilla.

'Very likely not,' said Arabella. 'Ladies of that sort very often don't
go to church. I dare say you'll find that she'll never stir out of the
place at all, and that not a soul in Nuncombe will ever see her except
the gardener. It is such a thing for a woman to be separated from her
husband! Don't you think so, Mr Gibson?'

'Of course it is,' said he, with a shake of his head, which was
intended to imply that the censure of the church must of course attend
any sundering of those whom the church had bound together; but which
implied also by the absence from it of any intense clerical severity,
that as the separated wife was allowed to live with so very respectable
a lady as Mrs Stanbury, there must probably be some mitigating
circumstances attending this special separation.

'I wonder what he is like?' said Camilla, after a pause.

'Who?' asked Arabella.

'The gentleman,' said Camilla.

'What gentleman?' demanded Arabella.

'I don't mean Mr Trevelyan,' said Camilla.

'I don't believe there really is eh is there?' said Mr Gibson, very
timidly.

'Oh, dear, yes,' said Arabella.

'I'm afraid there's something of the kind,' said Camilla. 'I've heard
that there is, and I've heard his name.' Then she whispered very
closely into the ear of Mr Gibson the words, 'Colonel Osborne,' as
though her lips were far too pure to mention aloud any sound so full of
iniquity.

'Indeed!' said Mr Gibson.

'But he's quite an old man,' said Dorothy, 'and knew her father
intimately before she was born. And, as far as I can understand, her
husband does not suspect her in the least. And it's only because
there's a misunderstanding between them, and not at all because of the
gentleman.'

'Oh!' exclaimed Camilla.

'Ah!' exclaimed Arabella.

'That would make a difference,' said Mr Gibson.

'But for a married woman to have her name mentioned at all with a
gentleman it is so bad; is it not, Mr Gibson?' And then Arabella also
had her whisper into the clergyman's ear very closely. 'I'm afraid
there's not a doubt about the Colonel. I'm afraid not. I am indeed.'

'Two by honours and the odd, and it's my deal,' said Miss Stanbury,
briskly, and the sharp click with which she put the markers down upon
the table was heard all through the room. 'I don't want anybody to tell
me,' she said, 'that when a young woman is parted from her husband, the
chances are ten to one that she has been very foolish.'

'But what's a woman to do, if her husband beats her?' said Mrs Crumbie.

'Beat him again,' said Mrs MacHugh.

'And the husband will be sure to have the worst of it,' said Mr
Crumbie. 'Well, I declare, if you haven't turned up an honour again,
Miss Stanbury!'

'It was your wife that cut it to me, Mr Crumbie.' Then they were again
at once immersed in the play, and the name neither of Trevelyan nor
Osborne was heard till Miss Stanbury was marking her double under the
candlestick; but during all the pauses in the game the conversation
went back to the same topic, and when the rubber was over they who had
been playing it lost themselves for ten minutes in the allurements of
the interesting subject. It was so singular a coincidence that the lady
should have gone to Nuncombe Putney of all villages in England, and to
the house of Mrs Stanbury of all ladies in England. And then was she
innocent, or was she guilty; and if guilty, in what degree? That she
had been allowed to bring her baby with her was considered to be a
great point in her favour. Mr Crumbie's opinion was that it was 'only a
few words'. Mrs Crumbie was afraid that she had been a little light.
Mrs MacHugh said that there was never fire without smoke. And Miss
Stanbury, as she took her departure, declared that the young women of
the present day didn't know what they were after. 'They think that the
world should be all frolic and dancing, and they have no more idea of
doing their duty and earning their bread than a boy home for the
holidays has of doing lessons.'